The poems of John Marston Edited by Arnold Davenport |
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| 1. | [SATY: Liber primus.] |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IIII. |
| II. |
| III. |
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 | The poems of John Marston |  |
102
[SATY: Liber primus.]
PROEMIVM IN librum primum.
I beare the scourge of iust Rhamnusia,
Lashing the lewdnes of Britania.
Let others sing as their good Genius moues,
Of deepe desines, or else of clipping loues.
Faire fall them all, that with wits industry,
Doe cloath good subiects in true poesie.
But as for me, my vexed thoughtfull soule,
Takes pleasure, in displeasing sharp controule.
Lashing the lewdnes of Britania.
Let others sing as their good Genius moues,
Of deepe desines, or else of clipping loues.
Faire fall them all, that with wits industry,
Doe cloath good subiects in true poesie.
But as for me, my vexed thoughtfull soule,
Takes pleasure, in displeasing sharp controule.
Thou nursing Mother of faire wisedoms lore,
Ingenuous Melancholy, I implore
Thy graue assistance, take thy gloomie seate,
Inthrone thee in my blood; Let me intreate
Stay his quicke iocond skips, and force him runne
A sadde pac'd course, vntill my whips be done.
Daphne, vnclip thine armes from my sad brow,
Blacke Cypresse crowne me whilst I vp do plow
The hidden entrailes of ranke villanie.
Tearing the vaile from damn'd Impietie.
Quake guzzell dogs, that liue on putred slime,
Skud from the lashes of my yerking rime.
Ingenuous Melancholy, I implore
Thy graue assistance, take thy gloomie seate,
Inthrone thee in my blood; Let me intreate
Stay his quicke iocond skips, and force him runne
A sadde pac'd course, vntill my whips be done.
Daphne, vnclip thine armes from my sad brow,
Blacke Cypresse crowne me whilst I vp do plow
The hidden entrailes of ranke villanie.
Tearing the vaile from damn'd Impietie.
Quake guzzell dogs, that liue on putred slime,
Skud from the lashes of my yerking rime.
103
SATYRE. I. Fronti nulla fides.
Marry God forfend, Martius swears he'le stab,
Phrigeo, feare not, thou art no lying drab.
What though dagger hack'd mouthes of his blade sweares
It slew as many as figures of yeares
Aqua fotis eate in't, or as many more,
As methodist Musus, kild with Hellebore
In autumne last, yet he beares the male lye
With as smooth calme, as Mecho riualrie.
How ill his shape, with inward forme doth fage,
Like Aphrogenias ill-yok'd marriage.
Fond Physiognomer, complexion
Guides not the inward disposition,
Inclines I yeeld. Thou saist Law Iulia,
Or Catoes often curst Scatinia
Can take no hold on simpring Lesbia,
True, not on her eye, yet Allom oft doth blast,
The sprouting bud that faine would longer last.
Chary Casca, right pure or Rhodanus,
Yet each night drinkes in glassie Priapus.
Phrigeo, feare not, thou art no lying drab.
What though dagger hack'd mouthes of his blade sweares
It slew as many as figures of yeares
Aqua fotis eate in't, or as many more,
As methodist Musus, kild with Hellebore
In autumne last, yet he beares the male lye
With as smooth calme, as Mecho riualrie.
How ill his shape, with inward forme doth fage,
Like Aphrogenias ill-yok'd marriage.
Fond Physiognomer, complexion
Guides not the inward disposition,
Inclines I yeeld. Thou saist Law Iulia,
Or Catoes often curst Scatinia
Can take no hold on simpring Lesbia,
True, not on her eye, yet Allom oft doth blast,
The sprouting bud that faine would longer last.
Chary Casca, right pure or Rhodanus,
Yet each night drinkes in glassie Priapus.
Yon Pine is fayre, yet fouly doth it ill
To his owne sprouts, marke, his rank drops distill
Foule Naples canker in their tender rinde;
Woe worth when trees drop in their proper kinde!
Mystagogus, what meanes this prodegie?
When Hiadolgo speakes gainst vsurie.
When Verres railes gainst thieues. Mylo doth hate
Murder, Clodius coockolds, Marius the gate
Of squinting Ianus shuts? runne beyond bound
of Nil vltra, and hang me when on's found
Will be himselfe. Had Nature turn'd our eyes
Into our proper selues, these curious spies
Would be asham'd, Flauia would blush to flout
When Oppia calls Lucina helpe her out.
If she did thinke, Lynceus did know her ill,
How Nature, Art, how Art, doth Nature spill.
God pardon me, I often did auer
Quod gratis, grate, the Astronomer
An honest man, but I'le doe so no more,
His face deceau'd me; but now since his whore
And sister are all one, his honestie
Shall be as bare as his Anatomie,
To which hee bound his wife, ô packstaffe rimes!
Why not, when court of starrs shal see these crimes?
Rodds are in pisse, I for thee Empericke,
That twenty graines of Oppium wilt not sticke
To minister to babes. Here's bloody dayes,
When with plaine hearbes, Mutius more men slaies
Then ere third Edwards sword. Sooth in our age,
Mad Coribantes neede not to enrage
The peoples mindes. You Ophiogine
Of Hellespont, with wrangling villanie
The swolne world's inly stung, then daine a touch,
If that your fingers can effect so much.
Thou sweet Arabian Panchaia,
Perfume this nastie age, smugge Lesbia
Hath stinking lunges, although a simpring grace,
A muddy inside, though a surphul'd face.
O for some deepe-searching Corycean,
To ferret out yon lewd Cynedian.
To his owne sprouts, marke, his rank drops distill
Foule Naples canker in their tender rinde;
Woe worth when trees drop in their proper kinde!
Mystagogus, what meanes this prodegie?
When Hiadolgo speakes gainst vsurie.
When Verres railes gainst thieues. Mylo doth hate
Murder, Clodius coockolds, Marius the gate
104
of Nil vltra, and hang me when on's found
Will be himselfe. Had Nature turn'd our eyes
Into our proper selues, these curious spies
Would be asham'd, Flauia would blush to flout
When Oppia calls Lucina helpe her out.
If she did thinke, Lynceus did know her ill,
How Nature, Art, how Art, doth Nature spill.
God pardon me, I often did auer
Quod gratis, grate, the Astronomer
An honest man, but I'le doe so no more,
His face deceau'd me; but now since his whore
And sister are all one, his honestie
Shall be as bare as his Anatomie,
To which hee bound his wife, ô packstaffe rimes!
Why not, when court of starrs shal see these crimes?
Rodds are in pisse, I for thee Empericke,
That twenty graines of Oppium wilt not sticke
To minister to babes. Here's bloody dayes,
When with plaine hearbes, Mutius more men slaies
Then ere third Edwards sword. Sooth in our age,
Mad Coribantes neede not to enrage
The peoples mindes. You Ophiogine
Of Hellespont, with wrangling villanie
The swolne world's inly stung, then daine a touch,
If that your fingers can effect so much.
Thou sweet Arabian Panchaia,
Perfume this nastie age, smugge Lesbia
Hath stinking lunges, although a simpring grace,
105
O for some deepe-searching Corycean,
To ferret out yon lewd Cynedian.
How now Brutus, what shape best pleaseth thee?
All Protean formes, thy wife in venery
At thy inforcement takes; well goe thy way,
Shee may transforme thee ere thy dying day.
Hush, Gracchus heares, that hath retaild more lyes,
Broch'd more slaunders, done more villanies,
Then Fabius perpetuall golden coate
(Which might haue Semper idem for a mott)
Hath beene at feasts, and led the measuring
At Court, and in each marriage reueling.
Writ Palæphatus, comment on those dreames,
That Hylus takes, mid'st dung-pit reeking steames
Of Athos hote house. Gramercie modest smyle.
Chremes a sleepe. Paphia, sport the while.
Lucia, new set thy ruffe, tut thou art pure,
Canst thou not lispe, (good brother) look demure?
Fye Gallus, what, a skeptick Pyrrhomist?
When chast Dictinna, breakes the Zonelike twist?
Tut, hang vp Hieroglyphickes. Ile not faine
Wresting my humor, from his natiue straine.
All Protean formes, thy wife in venery
At thy inforcement takes; well goe thy way,
Shee may transforme thee ere thy dying day.
Hush, Gracchus heares, that hath retaild more lyes,
Broch'd more slaunders, done more villanies,
Then Fabius perpetuall golden coate
(Which might haue Semper idem for a mott)
Hath beene at feasts, and led the measuring
At Court, and in each marriage reueling.
Writ Palæphatus, comment on those dreames,
That Hylus takes, mid'st dung-pit reeking steames
Of Athos hote house. Gramercie modest smyle.
Chremes a sleepe. Paphia, sport the while.
Lucia, new set thy ruffe, tut thou art pure,
Canst thou not lispe, (good brother) look demure?
Fye Gallus, what, a skeptick Pyrrhomist?
When chast Dictinna, breakes the Zonelike twist?
Tut, hang vp Hieroglyphickes. Ile not faine
Wresting my humor, from his natiue straine.
106
SATYRE. II. Difficile est Satyram non scribere. Iuve.
I cannot hold, I cannot I indure
To view a big womb'd foggie clowde immure
The radiant tresses of the quickning sunne.
Let Custards quake, my rage must freely runne.
Preach not the Stoickes patience to me,
I hate no man, but mens impietie.
My soule is vext, what power will'th desist?
Or dares to stop a sharpe fangd Satyrist?
Who'le coole my rage? who'le stay my itching fist
But I will plague and torture whom I list?
If that the three-fold walls of Babilon
Should hedge my tongue, yet I should raile vpon
This fustie world, that now dare put in vre
To make IEHOVA but a couerture,
To shade ranck filth, loose conscience is free,
From all conscience, what els hath libertie?
As't please the Thracian Boreas to blow,
So turnes our ayerie conscience, to, and fro.
To view a big womb'd foggie clowde immure
The radiant tresses of the quickning sunne.
Let Custards quake, my rage must freely runne.
Preach not the Stoickes patience to me,
I hate no man, but mens impietie.
My soule is vext, what power will'th desist?
Or dares to stop a sharpe fangd Satyrist?
Who'le coole my rage? who'le stay my itching fist
But I will plague and torture whom I list?
If that the three-fold walls of Babilon
Should hedge my tongue, yet I should raile vpon
This fustie world, that now dare put in vre
To make IEHOVA but a couerture,
To shade ranck filth, loose conscience is free,
From all conscience, what els hath libertie?
As't please the Thracian Boreas to blow,
So turnes our ayerie conscience, to, and fro.
What icye Saturnist, what northerne pate
But such grosse lewdnes would exasperate?
I thinke the blind doth see, the flame God rise
From Sisters couch, each morning to the skies:
Glowing with lust. Walke but in duskie night,
With Linceus eyes, and to thy piercing sight
Disguised Gods will show, in pesants shape,
Prest to commit some execrable rape.
Here Ioues lust pander, Maias iugling sonne,
In clownes disguise, doth after milk-maides runne.
And fore he'le loose his brutish lechery,
The truls shall tast sweet Nectars surquedry.
There Iunos brat, forsakes Neries bed,
And like a swaggerer, lust fiered,
Attended onely with his smock sworne page,
Pert Gallus, slilie slippes along, to wage
Tilting incounters, with some spurious seede
Of marrow pies, and yawning Oystars breede.
O damn'd!
But such grosse lewdnes would exasperate?
I thinke the blind doth see, the flame God rise
From Sisters couch, each morning to the skies:
Glowing with lust. Walke but in duskie night,
With Linceus eyes, and to thy piercing sight
Disguised Gods will show, in pesants shape,
107
Here Ioues lust pander, Maias iugling sonne,
In clownes disguise, doth after milk-maides runne.
And fore he'le loose his brutish lechery,
The truls shall tast sweet Nectars surquedry.
There Iunos brat, forsakes Neries bed,
And like a swaggerer, lust fiered,
Attended onely with his smock sworne page,
Pert Gallus, slilie slippes along, to wage
Tilting incounters, with some spurious seede
Of marrow pies, and yawning Oystars breede.
O damn'd!
Who would not shake a Satyres knottie rod?
When to defile the sacred seate of God
Is but accounted gentlemens disport?
To snort in filth, each hower to resort
To brothell pits: alas a veniall crime,
Nay, royall, to be last in thirtith slime.
When to defile the sacred seate of God
Is but accounted gentlemens disport?
To snort in filth, each hower to resort
To brothell pits: alas a veniall crime,
Nay, royall, to be last in thirtith slime.
Ay me, hard world for Satyrists beginne
To sette vp shop, when no small petty sinne
Is left vnpurg'd, once to be pursie fat
Had wont be cause that life did macerate.
Marry the iealous Queene of ayre doth frowne,
That Ganimede is vp, and Hebe downe.
Once Albion liu'd in such a cruell age
That men did hold by seruile villenage.
Poore brats were slaues, of bond-men that were borne,
And marted, sold, but that rude law is torne,
And disanuld, as too too inhumane,
That Lords ore pesants should such seruice straine.
But now, (sad change!) the kennell sinck of slaues,
Pesant great Lords, and seruile seruice craues.
To sette vp shop, when no small petty sinne
Is left vnpurg'd, once to be pursie fat
Had wont be cause that life did macerate.
Marry the iealous Queene of ayre doth frowne,
That Ganimede is vp, and Hebe downe.
Once Albion liu'd in such a cruell age
That men did hold by seruile villenage.
Poore brats were slaues, of bond-men that were borne,
And marted, sold, but that rude law is torne,
And disanuld, as too too inhumane,
That Lords ore pesants should such seruice straine.
108
Pesant great Lords, and seruile seruice craues.
Bondslaues sonnes had wont be bought & sold,
But now Heroes heires (if they haue not told
A discreet number, fore theyr dad did die)
Are made much of, how much from merchandie?
Tail'd, and retail'd, till to the pedlers packe,
The fourth-hand ward-ware comes, alack, alack,
Would truth did know I lyde, but truth, and I,
Doe know that fence is borne to miserie.
Oh would to God, this were their worst mischance,
Were not theyr soules sold to darke ignorance.
Faire goodnes is foule ill if mischiefes wit
Be not represt from lewd corrupting it.
But now Heroes heires (if they haue not told
A discreet number, fore theyr dad did die)
Are made much of, how much from merchandie?
Tail'd, and retail'd, till to the pedlers packe,
The fourth-hand ward-ware comes, alack, alack,
Would truth did know I lyde, but truth, and I,
Doe know that fence is borne to miserie.
Oh would to God, this were their worst mischance,
Were not theyr soules sold to darke ignorance.
Faire goodnes is foule ill if mischiefes wit
Be not represt from lewd corrupting it.
O what dry braine melts not sharp mustard rime
To purge the snottery of our slimie time?
Hence idle Cave, vengeance pricks me on,
When mart is made of faire Religion,
Reform'd bald Trebus swore in Romish quiere
He sold Gods essence, for a poore denier.
The Egyptians adored Onions,
To Garlicke yeelding all deuotions.
O happy Garlick, but thrice happy you,
Whose senting gods, in your large gardens grew.
Democritus, rise from thy putrid slime
Sport at the madnes of that hotter clime.
Deride their frenzie, that for policie
Adore Wheate dough, as reall deitie.
Almighty men, that can their Maker make,
And force his sacred body to forsake
The Cherubines, to be gnawne actually,
Deuiding indiuiduum, really.
Making a score of Gods with one poore word,
I, so I thought, in that you could afford,
So cheape a penny-worth. O ample fielde,
In which a Satyre may iust weapon weelde.
But I am vext, when swarmes of Iulians
Are still manur'd by lewd Precisians.
Who scorning Church rites, take the simbole vp
As slouenly, as carelesse Courtiers slup
Their mutton gruell. Fie, who can with-hold,
But must of force make his milde Muse a scold?
When that he greeued sees, with red vext eyes,
That Athens antient large immunities,
Are eye sores to the fates; Poore cells forlorne!
Ist not enough you are made an abiect scorne
To iering Apes, but must the shadow too
Of auncient substance, be thus wrung from you?
O split my hart, least it doe breake with rage
To see th'immodest loosenes of our age.
Immodest loosenes? fie too gentle word,
When euery signe can brothelrie afford.
When lust doth sparkle from our females eyes
And modestie, is rousted in the skies.
To purge the snottery of our slimie time?
Hence idle Cave, vengeance pricks me on,
When mart is made of faire Religion,
Reform'd bald Trebus swore in Romish quiere
He sold Gods essence, for a poore denier.
The Egyptians adored Onions,
To Garlicke yeelding all deuotions.
O happy Garlick, but thrice happy you,
Whose senting gods, in your large gardens grew.
Democritus, rise from thy putrid slime
Sport at the madnes of that hotter clime.
Deride their frenzie, that for policie
Adore Wheate dough, as reall deitie.
109
And force his sacred body to forsake
The Cherubines, to be gnawne actually,
Deuiding indiuiduum, really.
Making a score of Gods with one poore word,
I, so I thought, in that you could afford,
So cheape a penny-worth. O ample fielde,
In which a Satyre may iust weapon weelde.
But I am vext, when swarmes of Iulians
Are still manur'd by lewd Precisians.
Who scorning Church rites, take the simbole vp
As slouenly, as carelesse Courtiers slup
Their mutton gruell. Fie, who can with-hold,
But must of force make his milde Muse a scold?
When that he greeued sees, with red vext eyes,
That Athens antient large immunities,
Are eye sores to the fates; Poore cells forlorne!
Ist not enough you are made an abiect scorne
To iering Apes, but must the shadow too
Of auncient substance, be thus wrung from you?
O split my hart, least it doe breake with rage
To see th'immodest loosenes of our age.
Immodest loosenes? fie too gentle word,
When euery signe can brothelrie afford.
When lust doth sparkle from our females eyes
And modestie, is rousted in the skies.
Tell me Galliottæ, what meanes this signe
When impropriat gentiles will turne Capuchine?
Sooner be damn'd. O stuffe Satyricall?
When rapine feedes our pomp, pomp ripes our fall.
When the guest trembles at his hosts swart looke,
The sonne, doth feare his stepdame, that hath tooke
His mothers place for lust, the twin-borne brother
Malinges his mate, that first came from his mother.
When to be huge, is to be deadly sick,
When vertuous pesants, will not spare to lick
The deuils taile for poore promotion.
When for neglect, slubbred Deuotion
Is wan with greefe. When Rufus, yawnes for death
Of him that gaue him vndeserued breath.
When Hermus makes a worthy question,
Whether of Wright, as Paraphonalion
A siluer pispot fits his Lady dame?
Or i'st too good? a pewter best became.
When Agrippina poysons Claudius sonne,
That all the world to her own brat might run.
When the husband, gapes that his stale wife would die,
That he might once be in by curtesie.
The big paunch'd wife, longs for her loth'd mates death,
That she might haue more ioyntures here on earth.
When tenure for short yeeres, (by many a one)
Is thought right good be turn'd forth Littleton,
All to be headdie, or free hold at least
When tis all one, for long life be a beast,
A slaue, as haue a short term'd tenancie
When dead's the strength of Englands yeomanrie,
When invndation of luxuriousnes,
Fatts all the world with such grosse beastlines.
Who can abstaine? what modest braine can hold,
But he must make his shamefac'd Muse a scold?
When impropriat gentiles will turne Capuchine?
Sooner be damn'd. O stuffe Satyricall?
When rapine feedes our pomp, pomp ripes our fall.
110
The sonne, doth feare his stepdame, that hath tooke
His mothers place for lust, the twin-borne brother
Malinges his mate, that first came from his mother.
When to be huge, is to be deadly sick,
When vertuous pesants, will not spare to lick
The deuils taile for poore promotion.
When for neglect, slubbred Deuotion
Is wan with greefe. When Rufus, yawnes for death
Of him that gaue him vndeserued breath.
When Hermus makes a worthy question,
Whether of Wright, as Paraphonalion
A siluer pispot fits his Lady dame?
Or i'st too good? a pewter best became.
When Agrippina poysons Claudius sonne,
That all the world to her own brat might run.
When the husband, gapes that his stale wife would die,
That he might once be in by curtesie.
The big paunch'd wife, longs for her loth'd mates death,
That she might haue more ioyntures here on earth.
When tenure for short yeeres, (by many a one)
Is thought right good be turn'd forth Littleton,
All to be headdie, or free hold at least
When tis all one, for long life be a beast,
A slaue, as haue a short term'd tenancie
When dead's the strength of Englands yeomanrie,
When invndation of luxuriousnes,
Fatts all the world with such grosse beastlines.
Who can abstaine? what modest braine can hold,
But he must make his shamefac'd Muse a scold?
111
SATYRE. III. Redde, age, quæ deinceps risisti.
It's good be warie whilst the sunne shines cleere
(Quoth that old chuffe that may dispend by yere
Three thousand pound) whilst hee of good pretence
Commits himselfe to Fleet to saue expence.
No Countries Christmas: rather tarry heere,
The Fleet is cheap, the Country hall too deere.
But Codrus, harke, the world expects to see
Thy bastard heire rotte there in misery.
What? will Luxurio keepe so great a hall
That he will proue a bastard in his fall?
No, come on fiue, S. George, by heauen at all,
Makes his catastrophe, right tragicall;
At all, till nothing's left, Come on, till all comes off,
I haire and all, Luxurio, left a scoffe
To leaprous filthes: ô stay, thou impious slaue,
Teare not the lead from off thy Fathers graue,
To stop base brokage, sell not thy fathers sheete,
His leaden sheete, that strangers eyes may greete
Both putrefaction of thy greedie Sire,
And thy abhorred viperous desire.
But wilt thou needes shall thy Dads lackie brat
Weare thy Sires halfe-rot finger in his hat?
Nay then Luxurio waste in obloquie,
And I shall sport to heare thee faintly cry,
A die, a drab, and filthy broking knaues,
Are the worlds wide mouthes, all deuouring graues.
Yet Samus keepes a right good house I heare;
No, it keepes him, and free'th him from chill feare
Of shaking fitts; How then shall his smug wench,
How shall her bawd, (fit time) assist her quench
Her sanguine heate? Linceus, canst thou sent?
Shee hath her Monkey, & her instrument
Smooth fram'd at Vitrio. O greeuous misery!
Luscus hath left his female luxurie.
I, it left him; No, his old Cynick Dad
Hath forc'd him cleane forsake his Pickhatch drab.
Alack, alack, what peece of lustfull flesh
Hath Luscus left, his Priape to redresse?
Grieue not good soule, he hath his Ganimede,
His perfum'd shee-goate, smooth kembd & high fed.
At Hogsdon now his monstrous lust he feasts,
For there he keepes a baudy-house of beasts.
Paphus, let Luscus haue his Curtezan,
Or we shall haue a monster of a man.
Tut, Paphus now detaines him from that bower,
And claspes him close within his brick-built tower.
Diogenes, th'art damn'd for thy lewd wit,
For Luscus now hath skill to practise it.
Fayth, what cares he for faire Cynedian boyes?
Veluet cap'd Goates, duch Mares? tut common toies.
Detaine them all, on this condition
He may but vse the Cynick friction.
(Quoth that old chuffe that may dispend by yere
Three thousand pound) whilst hee of good pretence
Commits himselfe to Fleet to saue expence.
No Countries Christmas: rather tarry heere,
The Fleet is cheap, the Country hall too deere.
But Codrus, harke, the world expects to see
Thy bastard heire rotte there in misery.
What? will Luxurio keepe so great a hall
That he will proue a bastard in his fall?
No, come on fiue, S. George, by heauen at all,
Makes his catastrophe, right tragicall;
At all, till nothing's left, Come on, till all comes off,
I haire and all, Luxurio, left a scoffe
To leaprous filthes: ô stay, thou impious slaue,
Teare not the lead from off thy Fathers graue,
To stop base brokage, sell not thy fathers sheete,
His leaden sheete, that strangers eyes may greete
Both putrefaction of thy greedie Sire,
And thy abhorred viperous desire.
But wilt thou needes shall thy Dads lackie brat
Weare thy Sires halfe-rot finger in his hat?
Nay then Luxurio waste in obloquie,
And I shall sport to heare thee faintly cry,
A die, a drab, and filthy broking knaues,
Are the worlds wide mouthes, all deuouring graues.
112
No, it keepes him, and free'th him from chill feare
Of shaking fitts; How then shall his smug wench,
How shall her bawd, (fit time) assist her quench
Her sanguine heate? Linceus, canst thou sent?
Shee hath her Monkey, & her instrument
Smooth fram'd at Vitrio. O greeuous misery!
Luscus hath left his female luxurie.
I, it left him; No, his old Cynick Dad
Hath forc'd him cleane forsake his Pickhatch drab.
Alack, alack, what peece of lustfull flesh
Hath Luscus left, his Priape to redresse?
Grieue not good soule, he hath his Ganimede,
His perfum'd shee-goate, smooth kembd & high fed.
At Hogsdon now his monstrous lust he feasts,
For there he keepes a baudy-house of beasts.
Paphus, let Luscus haue his Curtezan,
Or we shall haue a monster of a man.
Tut, Paphus now detaines him from that bower,
And claspes him close within his brick-built tower.
Diogenes, th'art damn'd for thy lewd wit,
For Luscus now hath skill to practise it.
Fayth, what cares he for faire Cynedian boyes?
Veluet cap'd Goates, duch Mares? tut common toies.
Detaine them all, on this condition
He may but vse the Cynick friction.
O now yee male stewes, I can giue pretence
For your luxurious incontinence.
Hence, hence, yee falsed, seeming, Patriotes,
Returne not with pretence of saluing spots,
When here yee soyle vs with impuritie,
And monstrous filth, of Doway seminary.
What though Iberia yeeld you libertie,
To snort in source of Sodom vilanie?
What though the bloomes of young nobilitie,
Committed to your Rodons custodie,
Yee Nero like abuse? yet nere approch,
Your newe S. Homers lewdnes heere to broch.
Tainting our Townes, and hopefull Accademes,
With your lust-bating most abhorred meanes.
For your luxurious incontinence.
Hence, hence, yee falsed, seeming, Patriotes,
Returne not with pretence of saluing spots,
When here yee soyle vs with impuritie,
113
What though Iberia yeeld you libertie,
To snort in source of Sodom vilanie?
What though the bloomes of young nobilitie,
Committed to your Rodons custodie,
Yee Nero like abuse? yet nere approch,
Your newe S. Homers lewdnes heere to broch.
Tainting our Townes, and hopefull Accademes,
With your lust-bating most abhorred meanes.
Valladolid, our Athens gins to tast
Of thy ranck filth, Camphire and Lettuce chast,
Are cleane casheird, now Sophi Ringoes eate,
Candid Potatoes, are Athenians meate.
Hence Holy-thistle, come sweet marrow pie,
Inflame our backs to itching luxurie.
A Crabs bak'd guts, a Lobsters buttered thigh,
I heare them sweare is blood for venerie.
Had I some snout faire brats, they should indure
The new found Castilian callenture:
Before some pedant-Tutor, in his bed
Should vse my frie, like Phrigian Ganimede.
Nay then chast cells, when greasie Aretine
For his ranck Fico, is surnam'd diuine:
Nay then come all yee veniall scapes to me,
I dare well warrant you'le absolued be.
Rufus, I'le terme thee but intemperate,
I will not once thy vice exaggerate,
Though that each howre thou lewdly swaggerest,
And all the quarter day, pay'st interest
For the forbearance of thy chalked score.
Though that thou keep'st a tally with thy whore.
Since Nero keepes his mother Agrippine,
And no strange lust can satiate Messaline.
Of thy ranck filth, Camphire and Lettuce chast,
Are cleane casheird, now Sophi Ringoes eate,
Candid Potatoes, are Athenians meate.
Hence Holy-thistle, come sweet marrow pie,
Inflame our backs to itching luxurie.
A Crabs bak'd guts, a Lobsters buttered thigh,
I heare them sweare is blood for venerie.
Had I some snout faire brats, they should indure
The new found Castilian callenture:
Before some pedant-Tutor, in his bed
Should vse my frie, like Phrigian Ganimede.
Nay then chast cells, when greasie Aretine
For his ranck Fico, is surnam'd diuine:
Nay then come all yee veniall scapes to me,
I dare well warrant you'le absolued be.
Rufus, I'le terme thee but intemperate,
I will not once thy vice exaggerate,
Though that each howre thou lewdly swaggerest,
And all the quarter day, pay'st interest
114
Though that thou keep'st a tally with thy whore.
Since Nero keepes his mother Agrippine,
And no strange lust can satiate Messaline.
Tullus goe scotfree, though thou often bragg'st
That for a false French-crowne, thou vaulting hadst
Though that thou know'st for thy incontinence
Thy drab repay'd thee, true French pestilence.
But tush, his boast I beare, when Tegeran
Brags that he foystes his rotten Curtezan
Vpon his heire, that must haue all his lands:
And them hath ioyn'd in Hymens sacred bands.
Ile wincke at Robrus, that for vicenage
Enters commen, on his next neighbors stage,
When Ioue maintaines his sister, and his whore:
And she incestuous, iealous euermore,
Least that Europa on the Bull should ride:
Woe worth when beasts for filth are deified!
That for a false French-crowne, thou vaulting hadst
Though that thou know'st for thy incontinence
Thy drab repay'd thee, true French pestilence.
But tush, his boast I beare, when Tegeran
Brags that he foystes his rotten Curtezan
Vpon his heire, that must haue all his lands:
And them hath ioyn'd in Hymens sacred bands.
Ile wincke at Robrus, that for vicenage
Enters commen, on his next neighbors stage,
When Ioue maintaines his sister, and his whore:
And she incestuous, iealous euermore,
Least that Europa on the Bull should ride:
Woe worth when beasts for filth are deified!
Alacke poore rogues, what Censor interdicts
The veniall scapes of him that purses picks?
When some slie, golden-slopt Castilio
Can cut a manors strings at Primero?
Or with a pawne, shall giue a Lordship mate,
In statute staple chaining fast his state?
What Accademick starued Satyrist
Would gnaw rez'd Bacon, or with inke black fist
would tosse each muck-heap for som outcast scraps
Of halfe-dung bones to stop his iawning chaps?
Or with a hungry hollow halfe pin'd iaw
Would once a thrice-turn'd bone-pick'd subiect gnaw
When swarmes of Mountebancks, & Bandeti
Damn'd Briareans, sincks of villanie,
Factors for lewdnes, brokers for the deuill,
Infect our soules with all polluting euill.
The veniall scapes of him that purses picks?
When some slie, golden-slopt Castilio
Can cut a manors strings at Primero?
Or with a pawne, shall giue a Lordship mate,
In statute staple chaining fast his state?
What Accademick starued Satyrist
Would gnaw rez'd Bacon, or with inke black fist
would tosse each muck-heap for som outcast scraps
Of halfe-dung bones to stop his iawning chaps?
Or with a hungry hollow halfe pin'd iaw
115
When swarmes of Mountebancks, & Bandeti
Damn'd Briareans, sincks of villanie,
Factors for lewdnes, brokers for the deuill,
Infect our soules with all polluting euill.
Shal Lucea scorne her husbands luke-warme bed?
(Because her pleasure being hurried
In ioulting Coach, with glassie instrument,
Doth farre exceede the Paphian blandishment)
Whilst I (like to some mute Pythagoran)
Halter my hate, and cease to curse and ban
Such brutish filth? Shall Matho raise his name,
By printing pamphlets in anothers name,
And in them praise himselfe, his wit, his might.
All to be deem'd his Countries Lanthorne light?
Whilst my tongue's ty'de with bonds of blushing shame
For feare of broching my concealed name?
Shall Balbus, the demure Athenian,
Dreame of the death of next Vicarian?
Cast his natiuitie? marke his complexion?
Waigh well his bodies weake condition?
That with guilt sleight he may be sure to get
The Planets place, when his dim shine shall set?
(Because her pleasure being hurried
In ioulting Coach, with glassie instrument,
Doth farre exceede the Paphian blandishment)
Whilst I (like to some mute Pythagoran)
Halter my hate, and cease to curse and ban
Such brutish filth? Shall Matho raise his name,
By printing pamphlets in anothers name,
And in them praise himselfe, his wit, his might.
All to be deem'd his Countries Lanthorne light?
Whilst my tongue's ty'de with bonds of blushing shame
For feare of broching my concealed name?
Shall Balbus, the demure Athenian,
Dreame of the death of next Vicarian?
Cast his natiuitie? marke his complexion?
Waigh well his bodies weake condition?
That with guilt sleight he may be sure to get
The Planets place, when his dim shine shall set?
Shall Curio streake his lims on his dayes couch,
In Sommer bower? and with bare groping touch
Incense his lust, consuming all the yeere
In Cyprian dalliance, and in Belgick cheere?
Shall Faunus spend a hundred gallions,
Of Goates pure milke, to laue his stallions,
As much Rose iuyce? O bath! ô royall, rich
To scower Faunus, and his salt proude bitch!
And when all's cleans'd, shall the slaues inside stinck
worse then the new cast slime of Thames ebb'd brink?
Whilst I securely let him ouerslip?
Nere yerking him with my Satyrick whip?
In Sommer bower? and with bare groping touch
Incense his lust, consuming all the yeere
In Cyprian dalliance, and in Belgick cheere?
Shall Faunus spend a hundred gallions,
Of Goates pure milke, to laue his stallions,
As much Rose iuyce? O bath! ô royall, rich
To scower Faunus, and his salt proude bitch!
116
worse then the new cast slime of Thames ebb'd brink?
Whilst I securely let him ouerslip?
Nere yerking him with my Satyrick whip?
Shall Crispus with hipocrisie beguile,
Holding a candle, to some fiend a while?
Now Iew, then Turke, then seeming Christian,
Then Athiest, Papist, and straight Puritan,
Now nothing, any thing, euen what you list,
So that some guilt may grease his greedy fist?
Holding a candle, to some fiend a while?
Now Iew, then Turke, then seeming Christian,
Then Athiest, Papist, and straight Puritan,
Now nothing, any thing, euen what you list,
So that some guilt may grease his greedy fist?
Shall Damas vse his third-hand ward as ill,
As any iade that tuggeth in the mill?
What, shall law, nature, vertue, be reiected,
Shall these world Arteries be soule infected,
With corrupt blood? Whilst I shal Martia taske?
Or some young Villius, all in choller aske,
How he can keepe a lazie waiting man,
And buy a hoode, & siluer-handled fan
With fortie pound? Or snarle at Lollios sonne?
That with industrious paines hath harder wonne
His true got worship, and his gentries name
Then any Swine-heards brat, that lousie came
To luskish Athens, and with farming pots,
Compiling bedds, & scouring greazie spots,
By chaunce (when he can like taught Parrat cry
Dearely belou'd, with simpering grauitie)
Hath got the Farme of some gelt Vicary,
And now on cock-horse, gallops iollilie
Tickling with some stolne stuffe his sencelesse cure,
Belching lewd termes gainst all sound littrature.
Shall I with shaddowes fight? taske bitterly
Romes filth? scraping base channell rogarie?
Whilst such huge Gyants shall affright our eyes
With execrable, damn'd impieties?
Shall I finde trading Mecho, neuer loath
Frankly to take a damning periur'd oath?
Shall Furia broke her sisters modestie,
And prostitute her soule to brothelrie?
Shall Cossus make his well-fac'd wife a stale,
To yeeld his braided ware a quicker sale?
Shall cock-horse, fat-paunch'd Milo staine whole stocks
Of well borne soules, with his adultering spots?
Shall broking pandars sucke Nobilitie?
Soyling fayre stems with foule impuritie?
Nay, shall a trencher slaue extenuate,
Some Lucrece rape? and straight magnificate
Lewd Iouian lust? Whilst my satyrick vaine
Shall muzled be, not daring out to straine
His tearing paw? No gloomie Iuvenall,
Though to thy fortunes I disastrous fall.
As any iade that tuggeth in the mill?
What, shall law, nature, vertue, be reiected,
Shall these world Arteries be soule infected,
With corrupt blood? Whilst I shal Martia taske?
Or some young Villius, all in choller aske,
How he can keepe a lazie waiting man,
And buy a hoode, & siluer-handled fan
With fortie pound? Or snarle at Lollios sonne?
That with industrious paines hath harder wonne
His true got worship, and his gentries name
Then any Swine-heards brat, that lousie came
To luskish Athens, and with farming pots,
Compiling bedds, & scouring greazie spots,
By chaunce (when he can like taught Parrat cry
Dearely belou'd, with simpering grauitie)
Hath got the Farme of some gelt Vicary,
And now on cock-horse, gallops iollilie
Tickling with some stolne stuffe his sencelesse cure,
117
Shall I with shaddowes fight? taske bitterly
Romes filth? scraping base channell rogarie?
Whilst such huge Gyants shall affright our eyes
With execrable, damn'd impieties?
Shall I finde trading Mecho, neuer loath
Frankly to take a damning periur'd oath?
Shall Furia broke her sisters modestie,
And prostitute her soule to brothelrie?
Shall Cossus make his well-fac'd wife a stale,
To yeeld his braided ware a quicker sale?
Shall cock-horse, fat-paunch'd Milo staine whole stocks
Of well borne soules, with his adultering spots?
Shall broking pandars sucke Nobilitie?
Soyling fayre stems with foule impuritie?
Nay, shall a trencher slaue extenuate,
Some Lucrece rape? and straight magnificate
Lewd Iouian lust? Whilst my satyrick vaine
Shall muzled be, not daring out to straine
His tearing paw? No gloomie Iuvenall,
Though to thy fortunes I disastrous fall.
118
SATYRE. IIII. CRAS.
I marry Sir, here's perfect honestie:
When Martius will forsweare all villanie:
(All damn'd abuse, of payment in the warres
All filching from his Prince, and Souldiers)
When once he can but so much bright durt gleane,
As may mainetaine, one more White-friers queane.
One drab more, faith then farewell villanie,
He'le cleanse himselfe to Shoreditch puritie.
When Martius will forsweare all villanie:
(All damn'd abuse, of payment in the warres
All filching from his Prince, and Souldiers)
When once he can but so much bright durt gleane,
As may mainetaine, one more White-friers queane.
One drab more, faith then farewell villanie,
He'le cleanse himselfe to Shoreditch puritie.
As for Stadius, I thinke he hath a soule,
And if he were but free from sharpe controule
Of his sower host, and from his Taylors bill,
He would not thus abuse his riming skill,
Iading our tyred eares with fooleries,
Greasing great slaues, with oylie flatteries,
Good fayth I thinke, he would not striue to sute
The backe of humorous Time, (for base repute
Mong dunghill pesants) botching vp such ware,
As may be salable in Sturbridge fare.
If he were once but freed from specialtie,
But sooth, till then, beare with his ballatry.
And if he were but free from sharpe controule
Of his sower host, and from his Taylors bill,
He would not thus abuse his riming skill,
Iading our tyred eares with fooleries,
Greasing great slaues, with oylie flatteries,
Good fayth I thinke, he would not striue to sute
The backe of humorous Time, (for base repute
Mong dunghill pesants) botching vp such ware,
As may be salable in Sturbridge fare.
If he were once but freed from specialtie,
But sooth, till then, beare with his ballatry.
I ask'd lewd Gallus when he'le cease to sweare,
And with whole culuering raging othes to teare
The vault of heauen, spetting in the eyes
Of natures Nature, lothsome blasphemies.
To morrow he doth vow he will forbeare:
Next day I meete him, but I heare him sweare
Worse then before, I put his vow in minde,
He aunswers me, to morrow, but I finde
He sweares next day, farre worse then ere before:
Putting me of with (morrow) euermore.
Thus when I vrge him, with his sophistrie
He thinkes to salue his damned periurie.
And with whole culuering raging othes to teare
The vault of heauen, spetting in the eyes
Of natures Nature, lothsome blasphemies.
To morrow he doth vow he will forbeare:
119
Worse then before, I put his vow in minde,
He aunswers me, to morrow, but I finde
He sweares next day, farre worse then ere before:
Putting me of with (morrow) euermore.
Thus when I vrge him, with his sophistrie
He thinkes to salue his damned periurie.
Sylenus now is old, I wonder I
He doth not hate his triple venery,
Cold, writhled Eld, his liues-wet almost spent,
Me thinkes a vnitie were compotent:
But ô fayre hopes! He whispers secretly,
When it leaues him, he'le leaue his lecherie.
He doth not hate his triple venery,
Cold, writhled Eld, his liues-wet almost spent,
Me thinkes a vnitie were compotent:
But ô fayre hopes! He whispers secretly,
When it leaues him, he'le leaue his lecherie.
When simpring Flaccus (that demurely goes
Right neatly tripping on his new blackt toes)
Hath made rich vse of his Religion,
Of God himselfe, in pure deuotion:
When that the strange Ideas in his head
(Broch'd mong curious sotts, by shaddowes led)
Hath furnish'd him, by his hote auditors
Of fayre demeanes, and goodly rich mannors,
Sooth then he will repent, when's treasurie
Shall force him to disclaime his heresie.
What will not poore need force? but being sped,
God for vs all, the gurmonds paunch is fed.
His minde is chang'd, but when will he doe good?
To morrow, (I, to morrow by the rood.)
Right neatly tripping on his new blackt toes)
Hath made rich vse of his Religion,
Of God himselfe, in pure deuotion:
When that the strange Ideas in his head
(Broch'd mong curious sotts, by shaddowes led)
Hath furnish'd him, by his hote auditors
Of fayre demeanes, and goodly rich mannors,
Sooth then he will repent, when's treasurie
Shall force him to disclaime his heresie.
What will not poore need force? but being sped,
God for vs all, the gurmonds paunch is fed.
His minde is chang'd, but when will he doe good?
To morrow, (I, to morrow by the rood.)
Yet Ruscus sweares, he'le cease to broke a sute:
By peasant meanes striuing to get repute
Mong puffie Spunges, when the Fleet's defrayd
His reuell tier, and his Laundresse payd.
There is a crew which I too plaine could name
If so I might without th'Aquinians blame,
That lick the tayle of greatnes with their lips:
Laboring with third-hand iests, and Apish skips,
Retayling others wit, long barrelled
To glib some great mans eares, till panch be fed,
Glad if themselues, as sporting fooles be made,
To get the shelter of some high-growne shade.
To morrow yet these base tricks thei'le cast off,
And cease for lucar be a iering scoffe.
Ruscus will leaue, when once he can renue
His wasted clothes, that are asham'd to view
The worlds proude eyes. Drusus wil cease to fawne
when that his Farme, that leakes in melting pawne
Some Lord-applauded iest hath once set free.
All will to morrow leaue their roguerie.
When fox-furd Mecho (by damn'd vsurie,
Cutthrote deceit, and his crafts villanie)
Hath rak'd together some foure thousand pound,
To make his smug gurle, beare a bumming sound
In a young merchants eare, fayth then (may be)
He'le ponder if there be a Deitie?
Thinking, if to the parrish pouertie,
At his wisht death, be dol'd a halfe-penny,
A worke of Supererogation,
A good filth-cleansing strong purgation.
120
Mong puffie Spunges, when the Fleet's defrayd
His reuell tier, and his Laundresse payd.
There is a crew which I too plaine could name
If so I might without th'Aquinians blame,
That lick the tayle of greatnes with their lips:
Laboring with third-hand iests, and Apish skips,
Retayling others wit, long barrelled
To glib some great mans eares, till panch be fed,
Glad if themselues, as sporting fooles be made,
To get the shelter of some high-growne shade.
To morrow yet these base tricks thei'le cast off,
And cease for lucar be a iering scoffe.
Ruscus will leaue, when once he can renue
His wasted clothes, that are asham'd to view
The worlds proude eyes. Drusus wil cease to fawne
when that his Farme, that leakes in melting pawne
Some Lord-applauded iest hath once set free.
All will to morrow leaue their roguerie.
When fox-furd Mecho (by damn'd vsurie,
Cutthrote deceit, and his crafts villanie)
Hath rak'd together some foure thousand pound,
To make his smug gurle, beare a bumming sound
In a young merchants eare, fayth then (may be)
He'le ponder if there be a Deitie?
Thinking, if to the parrish pouertie,
At his wisht death, be dol'd a halfe-penny,
A worke of Supererogation,
A good filth-cleansing strong purgation.
121
Aulus will leaue begging Monopolies,
When that mong troupes of gaudie Butter-flies,
He is but able iet it iollily,
In pie-bauld sutes, of proude Court brauerie.
When that mong troupes of gaudie Butter-flies,
He is but able iet it iollily,
In pie-bauld sutes, of proude Court brauerie.
To morrow doth Luxurio promise me,
He will vnline himselfe from bitcherie.
Marry Alcides thirteenth act must lend
A glorious period, and his lust-itch end.
When once he hath froth-foming Ætna past
At one and thirtie being alwayes last.
He will vnline himselfe from bitcherie.
Marry Alcides thirteenth act must lend
A glorious period, and his lust-itch end.
When once he hath froth-foming Ætna past
At one and thirtie being alwayes last.
If not to Day (quoth that Nasonian)
Much lesse to morrow, Yes saith Fabian,
For ingrain'd Habites, died with often dips,
Are not so soone discoloured, young slips
New set, are easily mou'd, and pluck'd away,
But elder rootes, clip faster in the clay.
I smile at thee, and at the Stagerite,
Who holds the liking of the appetite,
Beeing fedde with actions often put in vre
Hatcheth the soule, in qualitie impure,
Or pure. May be in vertue, but for vice,
That comes by inspiration, with a trice
Young Furius scarce fifteene yeres of age
But is straight-wayes, right fit for marriage
Vnto the deuill, for sure they would agree,
Betwixt their soules there is such sympathie,
Much lesse to morrow, Yes saith Fabian,
For ingrain'd Habites, died with often dips,
Are not so soone discoloured, young slips
New set, are easily mou'd, and pluck'd away,
But elder rootes, clip faster in the clay.
I smile at thee, and at the Stagerite,
Who holds the liking of the appetite,
Beeing fedde with actions often put in vre
Hatcheth the soule, in qualitie impure,
Or pure. May be in vertue, but for vice,
That comes by inspiration, with a trice
Young Furius scarce fifteene yeres of age
But is straight-wayes, right fit for marriage
Vnto the deuill, for sure they would agree,
Betwixt their soules there is such sympathie,
O where's your sweatie habite, when each Ape,
That can but spy the shadow of his shape,
That can no sooner ken what's vertuous,
But will auoyde it, and be vicious,
Without much doe, or farre fetch'd habiture.
That can but spy the shadow of his shape,
122
But will auoyde it, and be vicious,
Without much doe, or farre fetch'd habiture.
In earnest thus, it is a sacred cure
To salue the soules dread wounds; Omnipotent
That Nature is, that cures the impotent,
Euen in a moment; Sure Grace is infus'd
By diuine fauour, not by actions vs'd.
Which is as permanent as heauens blisse
To them that haue it, then no habite is.
To morrow, nay to day, it may be got:
So please that gracious Power clense thy spot.
To salue the soules dread wounds; Omnipotent
That Nature is, that cures the impotent,
Euen in a moment; Sure Grace is infus'd
By diuine fauour, not by actions vs'd.
Which is as permanent as heauens blisse
To them that haue it, then no habite is.
To morrow, nay to day, it may be got:
So please that gracious Power clense thy spot.
Vice, from priuation of that sacred Grace,
which God with-drawes, but puts not vice in place.
Who sayes the sunne is cause of vgly night?
Yet when he vailes our eyes from his faire sight,
The gloomie curtaine of the night is spred.
Yee curious sotts, vainly by Nature led,
Where is your vice or vertuous habite now?
For Sustine pro nunc doth bend his brow,
And old crabb'd Scotus on th'organon
Pay'th me with snaphaunce, quick distinction,
Habites that intellectuall termed be,
Are got, or els infus'd from Deitie.
Dull Sorbonist, flie contradiction.
Fye, thou oppugn'st the definition.
If one should say, Of things term'd rationall,
Some reason haue, others meere sensuall.
Would not some freshman reading Porphirie,
Hisse, and deride such blockish foolerie?
Then vice nor vertue haue from habite place,
The one from want, the other sacred grace.
Infus'd, displac'd, not in our will or force,
But as it please Iehoua haue remorce.
I will, cryes Zeno, ô presumption!
I can, thou maist, dogged opinion
Of thwarting Cynicks. To day vicious,
List to their precepts, next day vertuous.
Peace Seneca, thou belchest blasphemy.
To liue from God, but to liue happily
(I heare thee boast,) from thy Phylosophie,
And from thy selfe, ô rauing lunacie!
Cynicks, yee wound your selues, for Destenie
Ineuitable Fate, Necessitie,
You hold doth sway the acts spirituall,
As well as parts of that we mortall call,
Where's then (I will?) wher's that strong Deitie,
You doe ascribe to your Phylosophie?
Confounded Natures brats, can will and Fate,
Haue both theyr seate, & office in your pate?
O hidden depth of that dread Secrecie,
Which I doe trembling touch in Poetrie!
To day, to day, implore obsequiously,
Trust not to morrowes will, least vtterly
Yee be attach'd with sad confusion,
In your Grace-tempting lewd presumption.
which God with-drawes, but puts not vice in place.
Who sayes the sunne is cause of vgly night?
Yet when he vailes our eyes from his faire sight,
The gloomie curtaine of the night is spred.
Yee curious sotts, vainly by Nature led,
Where is your vice or vertuous habite now?
For Sustine pro nunc doth bend his brow,
And old crabb'd Scotus on th'organon
Pay'th me with snaphaunce, quick distinction,
Habites that intellectuall termed be,
Are got, or els infus'd from Deitie.
Dull Sorbonist, flie contradiction.
Fye, thou oppugn'st the definition.
If one should say, Of things term'd rationall,
Some reason haue, others meere sensuall.
Would not some freshman reading Porphirie,
123
Then vice nor vertue haue from habite place,
The one from want, the other sacred grace.
Infus'd, displac'd, not in our will or force,
But as it please Iehoua haue remorce.
I will, cryes Zeno, ô presumption!
I can, thou maist, dogged opinion
Of thwarting Cynicks. To day vicious,
List to their precepts, next day vertuous.
Peace Seneca, thou belchest blasphemy.
To liue from God, but to liue happily
(I heare thee boast,) from thy Phylosophie,
And from thy selfe, ô rauing lunacie!
Cynicks, yee wound your selues, for Destenie
Ineuitable Fate, Necessitie,
You hold doth sway the acts spirituall,
As well as parts of that we mortall call,
Where's then (I will?) wher's that strong Deitie,
You doe ascribe to your Phylosophie?
Confounded Natures brats, can will and Fate,
Haue both theyr seate, & office in your pate?
O hidden depth of that dread Secrecie,
Which I doe trembling touch in Poetrie!
To day, to day, implore obsequiously,
Trust not to morrowes will, least vtterly
Yee be attach'd with sad confusion,
In your Grace-tempting lewd presumption.
But I forget; why sweat I out my braine,
In deepe designes, to gay boyes lewd, and vaine?
These notes were better sung, mong better sort,
But to my pamphlet, few saue fooles resort.
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These notes were better sung, mong better sort,
But to my pamphlet, few saue fooles resort.
Libri primi, finis.
| The poems of John Marston | |